A Christmas Carol
by GreyEyesGlaringAtShonda
Summary: Inspired by Charles Dickens’ masterpiece, this story takes us on a journey of the past, present, and future Christmases of all the main characters. YES, I know it is February.


**A Christmas Carol**

_Written by greyeyedgirl_

Summary: Inspired by Charles Dickens' masterpiece, this story takes us on a journey of the past, present, and future Christmases of all the main characters. YES, I know it is February.

Contact the author-Ruthi at Not affiliated with Grey's Anatomy or Charles Dickens, who is dead, you morons. (Um, RIP, my good man).

chapter one, Cristina's POV.

AN: Yeah, I know C and B probably had some kind of Chrismukkah thing, but this story starts off on Christmas Eve.

**December 24, 2005**

At first Cristina wasn't sure what had woken her up. She lay with her eyes shut tightly, feeling Burke's arm wrapped gently around her and seeing a glimmer of the twinkling lights through her closed eyes.

There was a small stirring at the end of the bed, and Cristina sat up in bed instinctively, and forced herself to hold back a scream.

A small girl sat on the foot of her bed.

Cristina stared at her in horror, her mouth gaping and her pulse racing. Slowly, it donned on her that this little girl was familiar. Her hair curled in two braided pigtails, and her face was serious above a shimmering white gown that seemed to glow. The girl, actually, seemed to be glowing.

"Hi." The girl's voice was sweet, and in it were the sounds of ringing bells and old Chanukah carols she had forgotten.

Cristina's breath came out gasping, and she stared at the little girl with her breath caught in her throat.

The little girl smiled at her serenely. "Do not be afraid. I am the ghost of holidays to already have happened...Just a _glimmer_ of your former self. I am here to remind you of who you used to be."

Cristina stared at her, and the realization hit her-this girl looked just like she had, just over 20 years younger! Cristina felt her breathing quicken, but the Ghost Cristina just smiled, crawling towards her on the bed.

Cristina yelped and drew back, but the Ghost simply took her hand (Cristina shuddered, the hand was as cold as ice), and pulled her forward with _shocking_ strength.

The air was foggy, and before Cristina's eyes the room spun around, transforming the setting into one she recognized from the deep memory of her brain.

"Cristina, are you almost ready?" Her mother's voice yelled up through the hallway of their Beverly Hills mansion, causing Cristina to step back. "She cannot see or hear you," Ghost Cristina whispered, squeezing her hand. Cristina shivered.

From the floor above she could hear the nanny's tentative shout. "Ma'am, she doesn't seem to want to come down." Cristina saw her mother frown, heading towards the stairs. Cristina could just hear the sound of a little girl whining, and she felt her heart stop, remembering this day, deep, deep down in her memory.

She had been 6 years old, and they'd been off to visit her step-grandparents. The nanny, Elizabeth, had forced her into the dress her mother'd bought for her, despite her fighting. The dress was ugly and too tight, and she'd had to wear those awful red tights that itched. She hated sitting still long enough for Elizabeth to braid her hair, and she'd hated the smudge of lipstick her mother had smeared across her lips, causing her tongue to recoil when she went to lick them.

"Come on, Cristina, this is ridiculous." Her mother's voice could be heard drafting down the stairs. Ghost Cristina pulled Cristina's hand towards the staircase, and Cristina shook again. "I don't want to go," she whispered.

Ghost Cristina turned, and smiled at her. Cristina shivered, seeing the exact replica of what she knew she would find if she went up the stairs, with the exception that _this_ little girl was smiling patiently, and the Young Cristina standing in a bedroom upstairs was not.

"Do you wish to visit a different memory?"

The little girl's eyes were watching Cristina carefully, and Cristina backed up. "I want to go home."

Ghost Cristina smiled. "You told Preston that you weren't ready to have a home with him."

Cristina's mouth dropped, and she stared at the little girl. She shook her head, closing her eyes determinedly. _I'm dreaming. Burke guilted me with all this Holiday crap, and moving in, that's all. This isn't real. I just drank too much eggnog, that's all._

"Come," the little girl said. Cristina shook her head slightly, but Ghost Cristina pulled her gently through the grey mist, swirling all around them.

They were in a school yard, and tall, expensive equipment littered the playground. Cristina smiled despite herself, as she spotted the slide with the smiling elephant head on top. She'd loved that slide.

Suddenly, Cristina frowned. That playground toy had been torn down when she was in 4th grade, right after the earthquake. That slide didn't _exist_ anymore.

"Everything all right?" The little girl was watching her again.

Cristina frowned at her, and the Ghost Cristina tentatively tugged at a pigtail. "This is my dream, and I'm in charge. I _refuse_ to dream about my childhood. I'm going to have a _good_ dream, about Burke, or...surgeries. I'm going to dream about aortic aneurysms. A really good aortic aneurysm."

Ghost Cristina smiled at her, then turned her head towards a large noise. Cristina realized for the first time that there were children playing over by the merry-go-round. Several boys, no older than 8, kicked a ball around the soccer field just behind them.

"It's mine!"

"No! I had it first! Give it to me!"

Cristina took a few tentative steps forward. "Shelly?" She murmured.

A small girl with dark curly hair stood arguing with a tall brunette about the same age.

"I want to play with it! It's mine!" And before Cristina's very eyes, she watched the young version of herself bop the little girl in front of her on the head.

Cristina turned her head towards the Ghost. "Is that what I'm supposed to see? Two little kids fighting over a jump rope?" She frowned at her. "Hey, don't judge me! I was six-years-old, I was fighting over a toy, big deal!"

The Ghost Cristina turned to smile at her. Cristina realized that though this little ghost child _looked_ like Cristina had, she didn't act like her. Cristina didn't smile that much in a _month. _ What did someone dead have to smile about?

"Don't you remember what happens, Cristina?"

Cristina frowned at her. How was she supposed to remember something that had happened over 20 years ago?

She was distracted by the sound of crying. She turned her head to see her childhood best friend, Michelle, sitting in the dirt, crying.

Young Cristina bent down, kneeling in front of her. "Don't cry, Shelly!" She said quickly with her little-girl voice. "Here, you can have the toy. Or we could share. Wouldn't that be fun? Come on, let's play together." Young Cristina could not seem to bear to see her friend so upset.

Shelly looked up, managing a smile through her tears, then stood up with Little Cristina's help. "Yeah, let's share."

Cristina watched, astounded, as Little Cristina hugged her best friend tightly. "Come on," Little Cristina said, gently leading Shelly towards the pavement, each girl holding one end of the jump rope.

The sound of the Ghost's melodic voice broke through Cristina's thoughts. "What did you think of that?"

Cristina stared down at her. "I don't get it. That was _my_ jump rope. Shelly had her own."

The Ghost simply smiled at her. "She wanted yours."

"Why did I give it to her? Just because she started crying?"

The Ghost touched her hand again, and Cristina shuddered at the cold touch.

"Come," Ghost Cristina said. "You still have much to see."

Cristina remembered this room. Her mother had redecorated it several times since then, but the main make-up of the room remained the same. The window letting in several flickers of California sunshine, though it was dimmed now in the middle of December. The fireplace warmed the already stifling room, and the orange light caused shadows on the then-white walls.

"Come on, Cristina," Saul Rubenstein said cheerfully, leading a girl of about six into the room. "_This_ year, you're a big girl. You get to light the Menorah. Aren't you excited?"

The small girl in his arms smiled at him, but Cristina could remember her displeasure at hearing this news. She'd wanted to go back upstairs and play, and Saul had dragged her downstairs to play with the dumb big candle.

"Okay, while we wait for Mommy to get here, do you want to hear the Chanukah story?" He set Little Cristina down on the soft white carpet, taking the Menorah from the window sill.

"Do you remember it from last year? Want to tell it to me?"

Cristina had hated it when he'd talked to her like that, like she was Crazy Great-Grandma Lois.

"The men had been traveling forever, and they only had one candle, with enough oil to last one day and night. But the oil lasted _eight_ days, and _eight _nights, and it was a miracle."

Saul smiled at her. "That's pretty close. They needed the candle to keep warm, remember?"

Little Cristina pulled on the tights she was wearing, scratching just above her knee. "Uh huh."

Cristina watched with the Ghost from a distance, noting what an odd scene it would make to a witness, this grown man wearing a bright red fuzzy sweater, with a little girl with wild hair grasping his hand, while what looked to be the little girl's twin stood on the side in a glowing nightgown, holding Cristina's hand. Cristina realized it might appear as slightly frightening.

"What am I supposed to see?" Cristina whispered to the Ghost. "I went along with Saul's Hanukkah stuff, like he wanted. I remember this day. He made me light the Menorah and sing The Dreidle Song over and over again to his mother over the phone."

The small Ghost-child looked at her. "Would you have done the same thing today, do you think?"

Cristina stared at her. "Well, I certainly wouldn't have worn those tights."

Ghost Cristina smiled at her. "In these memories, you proved to be a sweet little girl, a girl of compassion, who treated the ones she loved...like she loved them."

Cristina glared at her, and once again she thought of what an odd scene it must make, a grown woman glaring down at a frightening little girl of such great incandescence. "I _am_ compassionate."

Ghost Cristina continued to smile, her head tilted up to look at the cowering figure that was Dr. Cristina Yang. "You are, at times. But have you once told Preston that you loved him? Or even treated him like you did?"

Cristina frowned at her, as she thought out load. "Why do you keep calling him Preston? This is my dream, and I don't call him that, so why..." She shrugged, rolling her eyes, a look of annoyance clouding her delicate features. "Why am I even trying to figure this out?"

Ghost Cristina watched her carefully, the annoying smile still overtaking her pretty face. "This is not a dream."

Cristina scowled, snapping at the little girl-like creature, so alike and yet so different from the child she had used to be. "Yes, it is."

"You will have proof at the end of the night. You will know what is real and what is not, and be able to draw that ever so fine line between fact and fiction."

Cristina's hair whipped as she stared down at the tiny Ghost. "What are you talking about? The line between fact and fiction isn't fine! Wait." She stopped, her gaze resting solely on the Ghost as Young Cristina started to sing loudly into the phone in the background. "Did you say _all night?_ I have to work tomorrow afternoon! And even though I don't get to go into work until _twelve_," her voice showed her anger at this, "Burke wants me to get up so we can...I don't know. Eat _milk_ and _cookies,_ I suppose." She frowned down at the small girl.

Ghost Cristina smiled, and Cristina made a noise of frustration. "You will not spend the whole night with me. Do not worry." The Ghost smiled rather demurely.

"You seem to have seen what you need to see, and at least recognize the error of your ways. Come with me."

"We're going home?" Cristina allowed the Ghost to grasp her hand one last time, as a greyish-white mist surrounded them.

She was back in her bed, rubbing her eyes. There was no sign of what had just happened, not even a crease in the bedspread where the little girl had sat. Had it been a little girl?

How could it have been?

"What a weird, weird dream." Cristina said aloud. She hesitated for a moment, before looking down at Burke, sleeping soundly a few inches away. She slowly pulled the blanket up and over her, rearranging it so it covered Burke's whole body and tucking it in gently just under his chin. She snuggled in close to him, trying to get her pulse to settle down. She kissed his forehead very lightly, her mind racing with what she had just rewitnessed. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the clock, and the red numbers glared out at the world. **1:01**. She carefully moved her shoulders so they were under Burke's arm, closing her eyes. Time to get to that aortic aneurysm.


End file.
